


Two Steps Forward

by Serenhawk



Series: The Cockles Digest [1]
Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Angst, Character Bleed, Cockles, Fluff, Headcanon, M/M, POV Alternating, POV Jensen, Pillow Talk, Romance, Schmoop if you squint, Slow Build, mentions of depression, mentions of polyamory
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-09
Updated: 2014-02-09
Packaged: 2018-01-11 18:33:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 20,672
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1176467
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Serenhawk/pseuds/Serenhawk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jensen is having issues. Work is getting on top on him and inside his head is not where he wants to be. So when something unexpected occurs with Misha it distracts him, but also complicates life in a way that it's the last thing he needs. Or so he thinks.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [emmyloo03](https://archiveofourown.org/users/emmyloo03/gifts).



> This is a work of fiction. No disrespect intended to those whose names are used.
> 
> The prompt for this comes from Jensen's comments about how filming Season 9 affected him, although it's not specifically stamped as such. He is angsty, grumpy and vague, but he gets over it with Misha's 'help'.  
> This is totally self-indulgent headcanon based on a dream I had. Apologies for rambling and/or lack of drama - because Cockles.
> 
> Vicki and Danneel are mentioned but don't appear. Thanks to Jared for the meta amusement I had while writing this.
> 
> Special thanks to Emmy, my partner in crime, for encouraging me, and beta services.

 

Jared was worried. _Shit._

As his friend strode closer, Jensen was sure he recognized Jared’s most sincere and determined worried face, and it had him fixed in the cross-hairs.

And with good reason. Jensen’s edges were coming apart at the seams and Dean Winchester was leeching out where he wasn’t welcome. Not for the first time by any means, but this time seemed more intense, pervasive and malignant than any previous occasion.

While it was unlikely anyone would describe him as exuberant, Jensen knew that lately he’d been more subdued and moody than his run-of-the-mill bad days, and he’d become aware people were taking notice. Jared had been directing him sympathetic but prying frowns for weeks now, and others were giving him either a wide berth or random quiet pats on the shoulder in equal measure.

“Okay man, I’m officially  _worried_ ,” Jared announced without preamble as he arranged himself into the chair across the table where Jensen slouched alone. He couldn’t help the wry huff his chest produced. _Wh_ _y does it feel like I’m holding my breath all the time_? he mused.

He really didn’t want to talk about it even though he knew it was getting to the point he probably should, so he made a feeble attempt at deflection with the first half-assed thought that came to mind. “Yeah? You know, me too. Those ice caps are shrinking so fast I’m surprised starving polar bears haven't shown up on the island to chow down on the locals.” It was weak, but his heart wasn’t even up to sarcasm at the moment. Fuck, it really _was_ bad.  

Jensen took a sip from his bottle of sugary whatever and looked away with as much nonchalance as he could feign. He knew he wore his solitude like a warning, but he also expected his best friend would completely disregard any ‘stay away’ vibes he was emitting. Maybe if he could piss Jared off enough he’d go away and leave him alone to try making himself suitable for public consumption for the afternoon, or at least let him stew in his own juices for the rest of his break.

His friend just gave him the Padalecki patented sad-but-patient-even-when-you-are-being-a-dick bitch-face.

“I’m serious,” he persisted. He leaned in and Jensen couldn’t help meeting his earnest stare. “I know you like to deal on your own but you are starting to shut down - from me, from Misha...” 

Jensen looked down. A ladybug was navigating its way along the edge of the table. Ladybug – ladybird... Why did they have two names, and why ‘bird’? There was nothing remotely birdlike about them. Were boy ladybugs miffed about the name? And why was his mind always straying off into stupid weird tangents?  _Probably trying to escape itself,_ he reasoned.

“I’ve debated about calling Danni.”

A flash of irritation brought him back to Jared. “Wait, what…?” he sneered, sitting up. Then he softened; it really wasn’t worth it, and he was so damn drained.  He pressed his lips together and puffed. “What’s Misha said? You two discussing me now?”

A light smirk slid onto Jared’s face. “Dude, you know we can’t help bonding over our mutual boyfriend.”

“Oh, ha-ha,” he shot back dully. It was a running joke, although not one that they’d used in a while. Back when they’d discovered fans were determined to imagine he and Jared as a couple, they’d laughed it off privately despite it being both bemusing and a little irritating.  The banter was resurrected with the introduction of Castiel, and the subsequent arrival of one Misha Collins transformed them into an imaginative love triangle.  The fans have had a field day with the dynamic ever since, and Misha - of course - was atrocious at fuelling the flames. Not that Jensen didn’t have his mischievous moments either, he could concede.

The three of them were close - too close sometimes, even when they wanted to slap each other round the ears on a daily basis. But there were also times he felt each of them pull him in different directions.  He and Jared wore each other like favourite clothes by now, completely in tune even when they were heartily sick of each other. He and Misha on the other hand had a totally different vibe; they bounced off each other, the air between them imbued with a kind of static. Jared knew him better than almost anyone and was now one of the rocks in his life. But with Misha there was this elusive momentum, and Jensen would react to him in odd ways, like randomly divulging things he didn't tell anyone else.  If he was dwelling on something he’d go to Jared, but it was Misha he felt compelled to seek out when he had something he desperately needed to share, happy or otherwise.

“Seriously, we’ve kinda been tossing up who has to do the intervention on you,” Jared continued gently, snapping Jensen back to the conversation. “There’s still a lot of the season left to come, and fuck knows it’s done a number on all of us so far… but I know you, and it looks like Dean is drowning you at the moment.”

Jared was right. He thought he’d gotten better at this over the years. He _had_ got better. At first he was happy to let Dean inhabit him right to the edges, and love him when nothing else in the Supernatural universe did.  But as Dean and Sam Winchester endured their endless shit-storm of tragedy and heartbreak, he found he had to take steps to manage Dean back into his box and draw firm lines where and when he was welcome. There were always certain scenes that got on top of him, leaving him possessed for a day or so like one of those dreams that can persist into waking, keeping him in a weird state of half-reality.  But for the most part he and Dean had come to an arrangement.

This season however, L.A. had decided to kick over the lever on the Dean Winchester emotional merry-go-round all the way to the redline, and Jensen’s mind and body were beginning to want to jump off and puke their guts out. He was tense, irritable, and his motivation to get out bed was eroding by the day. He felt like he was fifty pounds heavier, which was not surprising since he was effectively carrying around another personality inside of him whose spirit was floundering and decimated.

“Intervention huh,” he pondered. “I know I’ve been outta sorts, and I _am_ dealing with it. D’s called me on it already.” She had too, immediately noticing he was retreating into himself, and reminding him to breathe. Unfortunately though she wasn’t up here often, so the nights between their frequently interminably long days on set left him and Dean alone together in his Vancouver apartment.

“Ah-huh,” was all Jared replied.

Jared and brevity were passing acquaintances at best, so he didn’t believe for a second he was going to get out of the conversation that easily.  “Okay-” Jared conceded as he eased himself to stand.

Jensen resisted the urge to look skyward for flying pigs.

“Just promise me that you _will_ talk about it, you know? Let some of it out, if not to me then to Misha. Don’t let Dean hold you to ransom J,” he ended with a penetrating look before changing beat and adding, “The gag reel is going to be pretty tragic this year if you don’t get your game back.”

Jared’s eyes narrowed again. “That is all it is, isn’t it? There’s nothing else going on with you?”

“What? Um, yeah, that’s all. Been a rough few weeks,” he shrugged unconvincingly. He was vaguely aware there might have been other crap niggling at him (there usually was), but he was so _done_ with this today he refused to chase the thought further.  “I promise, once I’ve got my head around it enough to spill, I’ll let you drag me somewhere for a beer and we can hug it out,” he finished with a weak smile.

“Pinky swear?” Jared asked, holding out one hand and wriggling the little finger.

“Fuck off,” Jensen answered, mustering an affectionate eye-roll. 

Jared turned with a grin and ambled off.

He sighed, relieved to be alone again, for the moment at least. Although he could concede that maybe it was actually better to be around people who might distract him, even if they were all concerned and irritatingly cautious. He downed the rest of his drink and trudged back to the trailer for his notes, resolving to try to get his head back in the game for the last few hours on set.

 

**********

 

A few days later nothing had changed. The feeling of slow suffocation was growing, and he wished he could shake his head and have all his thought’s fall back into place instead flying around like a swarm of lost bees. Mostly he just wanted to sleep, preferably for a week.

Today however, there was one saving grace. It _was_ grace of sorts he noted dryly: an angel. Castiel was in today’s pages, and that meant Misha was floating around.

And float he did - he always seemed to be absorbed with somebody: laughing, animated discussion, inquisitorial. Except when he wasn’t and he was just... _Misha._ He had this knack of being entirely comfortable looking not-quite-comfortable whether he was engaged with a full room of people, conversing with one, or just being by himself.  Jensen knew him better than anyone else on set, and yet even he still didn’t quite _get it_. What Jensen did get, was having Misha around made him feel anchored in a way he often savoured, and possibly even needed right now. Not that he’d ever tell him that. Maybe it was simply a matter of feeling calm in comparison to Misha’s erratic mini whirlwind, he’d sometimes wondered.

He watched Misha move between the crew, grinning and whispering, touching shoulders and elbows as he went, his tactile nature in full swing.  Eventually he made his way over to claim a vacant chair next to where Jensen was sitting half-heartedly going over the script he’d already memorized. Misha wasn’t in costume yet, and Jensen rather enviously noted the long arms extending from his black t-shirt were still tanned from the past summer.

“How are you not cold?” Jensen asked him with a slight frown. “You do remember crossing the border into Canada yesterday don’t you? Notice that white stuff on the mountains?”

“Well fuck you too my friend, I missed your cheery disposition while I was away.  How am I? Wonderful! Thank you for asking.”  Misha’s genuine grin and pat on Jensen’s thigh betrayed the snark in his words.

Jensen let out a grunt. “Sorry your highness, for not greeting you in the manner you’re accustomed to,” he countered, though he couldn’t help returning Misha’s smile.  “I am thrilled you’ve returned since I missed you considerably,” he managed with dramatic aplomb. It wasn’t _entirely_ insincere, he acknowledged.

“Much more befitting, thank you,” Misha graciously accepted as he sat back to cast his eyes around the room before settling them back on Jensen.

Jensen met his gaze for a moment - a long moment, as usual, but he couldn’t hold it today. Another thing about Misha was that he seemed to effortlessly look through Jensen’s exterior to his core. He’d gotten used to it by now, grown to crave it perhaps in a weird way. But it still had the power to freak him out when he wasn’t ready for it or he had something to hide, like now.

“You need a few days off too, you look like shit,” Misha said after a moment.

“Well fuck you too, my friend,” Jensen echoed scornfully as he looked away. He didn’t want to let that line of conversation continue so he gracelessly changed the subject. “You seen Jared on your travels?  We were supposed to run over a few things...” He tapered off, and looked back to meet Misha’s continued scrutiny.

“Nope,” answered Misha canting his head, annoyingly reminiscent of his character. "You seriously look under it Jen, will you talk to me later?”

“You’ve been conspiring with Jared again,” Jensen muttered, feeling besieged.

“No. Yes. Well, he sent a text to say he’d talked to you, to little avail,” said Misha, suddenly serious. Well, serious for Misha.

“Great, so now it’s your turn at the intervention? Shrink me and make sure I’m not falling to pieces?” Jensen didn’t know why he was peeved suddenly.

“No,” his friend said steadily as he returned his palm to Jensen’s leg and held it there. Jensen felt his irritation lessen under the touch. “But we’re worried. Everyone is worried, because we care.” Misha’s tone softened. “Because _I care_ , and I want you to know you don’t have to be entirely alone with feeling whatever it is you’re… _feeling_ , _”_ he finished with a shrug.

Jensen studied Misha’s long fingers, still stretching out over his thigh. Half of him wanted to cut the rope holding him together in front of his friend and _breathe_ , and the other half just dig in, pretend and avoid.

The latter half won. “You _care_ huh?” he returned as coyly as he could, tilting his head and fluttering the eyelashes he knew for a fact were infamously impressive, and that he’d already had a lifetime of employing.

“Don’t get your hopes up, sweetheart,” Misha grinned back as he slid up to stand, finally withdrawing his hand again. “I’d better get to makeup, but later you and I are having a drink, no arguments!” he stated firmly, before adding with a wink, “That’s an order.” He spun around to leave and nearly collided with Jared, who naturally gathered him into a hug, thumping a palm on his back.

“Hey Mish, nice to have you back, as usual,” Jared proclaimed with suspicious sincerity.

“See?” said Misha as he disentangled himself and half-turned back to Jensen. “This one remembers appropriate civilities,” he threw back with a fake glare.  Jensen decided to answer by flipping him off.

Misha turned again and headed off across the set with a chuckle echoing in his wake.

“What was that about?” asked Jared, looking less than interested in receiving an answer.

“Nothin’, just… Misha,” Jensen replied, satisfied that was an explanation in itself.

“Hmm, okay then,” said Jared. “You wanna…?” he asked vaguely, waving his notes in the air.

“Yeah, we should,” Jensen sighed, trying to focus his attention away from the black t-shirt receding into the distance, and back to work.

 

**********

 

They had a comparatively early wrap time that day, and Jensen tried to make a quick getaway with the intention of conducting only a hasty clothing change before Clif pulled the car around. Instead, he found himself cornered by his friend just as he was opening his trailer door.

“Hey, you, don’t think you are going to sneak off,” Misha said as he poked a forefinger into Jensen’s chest from the step below.

“Would I do that?” asked Jensen in feigned innocence.

“Yes, when you are avoiding something.  Artful evasion is not one of your talents,” answered Misha. “Of which there are many others of course,” he added with a winsome grin that elicited another eye-roll from Jensen, though he couldn’t help the small smile that sneakily followed.

“Okay, so what do I have to do?” he asked in a resigned tone.

Misha ignored it completely. “You don’t have to do anything Jen.”

“What happened to ‘and that’s an order’ earlier?” Jensen replied, arching an eyebrow.

“Oh. Well yeah, depends on how well you respond to taking orders from me,” said Misha, typically suggestive Jensen noted - he’d expect nothing else.

He countered with yet another eye-roll. “Mish, get to the point for once, please,” he asked.

“Let’s just go somewhere, have a chat. You know… shoot the breeze.”

“I really don’t feel like being out anywhere,” Jensen replied, knowing his arm could not be twisted enough for him to set foot in public tonight.

“Okay, well, how about we pick up a bottle and go to my place, or yours. We don’t have to talk, let’s just… hang out.”

“Hang out?” Jensen snorted. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard you use that phrase before.”

For once Misha looked uncomfortable, which then slid into vague irritation. “Look I don’t want to pressure you, fuck knows you don’t like to be pressured,” he muttered. “But let me in Jen, just a little. I know you don’t want to be locked up in that head with only yourself for company _all_ the time,” he urged as he gently tapped Jensen’s temple.

Jensen reached his hand up to tug Misha’s away before gently dropping it. “Okay,” he relented. “Yeah, let’s do that. Just gimme ten and I’ll meet you at the car,” he offered with a placating smile. It wasn’t fair to take it out on his friend, and it might be nice to have some company, especially Misha’s.

“Good,” Misha returned. He gave Jensen a squeeze on the elbow before turning to jog to his own trailer.

Jensen headed inside to change clothes. His feelings were mixed; he wasn’t at all sure he wanted company, but it _was_ Misha.  Whereas other people would often drain him, his friend seemed to have the opposite effect. Come to think of it he _had_ missed him, he accepted with a smile to himself - better remember to tell him that, the bastard.

Forty minutes later and Clif was dropping them both off outside Jensen’s apartment building, complete with two bottles of Shiraz someone had conveniently left as a gift in Misha’s trailer some weeks ago. It had started to rain so they loped inside and into the elevator, ascending in silence. Once inside his apartment Jensen dropped his keys on the counter and didn’t hesitate in pulling out two large glasses from the cupboard. Having a drink suddenly seemed like an excellent idea after all.

“This looks acceptable,” he assessed from the label and his not insubstantial wine knowledge.

“Isn’t it how it tastes that’s more relevant?” Misha shot back.

“Touché,” Jensen conceded. “Let’s sample and pass pseudo-sophisticated judgement.” He smiled half-heartedly as he poured two overfull glasses before handing one to his friend.

“Cheers,” Misha offered, holding Jensen’s eyes before taking a sip. “Mmm… not bad. Whoever gave that to me had reasonable taste. Shame on me for not having a fucking clue who it was.”

Jensen was still stuck in the bouquet phase of assessment. Well he was faking it - really he was resisting the urge to down the whole glass, suddenly feeling like he wanted to be as numb as possible.  He took what he’d define as a swig before letting out a humph. “Grapey,” he offered.

“Your enthusiasm is a little underwhelming,” Misha chided.

“Yeah, sorry. Guess I’m having trouble finding much enthusiasm for anything at the moment.”

Misha gave him a direct look, but chose after a moment to walk over to sit on the couch rather than addressing Jensen’s confession.  Instead he changed the subject. “So we should probably eat if we are going to put away that bottle.  You want to order something, or--?”

“Umm, sure.  Or I can take a look, I might have something,” Jensen said as he wandered back and opened the refrigerator. He appreciated Misha not cornering him with questions; he had a way of surprising people with direct lines of conversation when they least expected it, and he was happy to delay any abrupt probing.

“How about sandwiches – I’ve got smoked chicken, salad? Some soft cheese?” he suggested, surprised that the meagre contents of his kitchen were capable of manifesting a half decent meal, of sorts. Normally he’d be lucky to scratch together a bowl of cereal since he rarely spent enough time there to acquire groceries.

“Sure. Wanna hand?”

“Naa, I’m good.”

Misha appeared around the corner and joined him anyway, taking a knife from the drawer to begin buttering the thick bread as Jensen picked apart meat and opened the bagged salad.

Their shoulders brushed, and the awareness resurfaced of how being in close proximity to Misha had a profound effect on him, kind of like taking a long invigorating breath.  He didn’t know why but there was something in Misha’s freaky erratic aura that both reassured him and planted a smile somewhere in the vicinity of his gut – a smile that could threaten to bubble up into a laugh at any moment.  Often it extended to a pulling sensation, almost like gravity, where he’d always end up on the same side of the room as Misha wherever they were.  It was weird, they were always… _aware_ of each other.  Sometimes he even felt a stupid sense of awe around his friend, or was it envy; he didn’t think Misha knew how _free_ he was, in a way Jensen knew he never could be.

He glanced out of the corner of his eye at Misha’s profile, who had a small smile of his own tugging at his mouth. He must have noticed the appraisal as he gave Jensen a gentle shove, shoulder to shoulder. To say they were comfortable in each other’s space would be an understatement; Jensen supposed he was a warm guy overall, and the people he was fond of knew it. But he was fully aware he and Misha sometimes came across as a hair’s breadth away from PDA, wherever they were. Hell, they frequently played it up in front of the fans, although if Jensen was honest with himself even that had crossed the line at some point from teasing to ‘just the way it was’.

 _Dammit_ why was he standing here scrutinizing Misha, again? His brain was doing that lately – fixating on things and going over them to the nth degree.  

He hadn’t dissected his relationship with Misha in a long time, not since he figured out it was pointless to even attempt it. They were like the proverbial chalk and cheese, paradoxical in many ways.  And yet they slotted together with a warm friction that was… well, it was legendary in their particular universe, given that it was so palpable it played straight through the lens onto the screen.  It was a happy coincidence that both senior production and the audience rejoiced in, citing their ‘chemistry up the wazoo’. But the fact it was somewhat publically exploited didn’t diminish it in private; they were still _them_. 

He’d avoided analyzing it all, but he was wise enough to know that it was something unique. Early on in their relationship, before he’d really worked him out, Misha would often drive him (on purpose, he suspected) fucking nuts. But since, in reflective moments, he’d gone so far as to silently thank fate for introducing them. Including times when he’d shaken his head at Misha’s antics, which was on a reasonably frequent basis it had to be said. He had some great friends; people he could ask anything of or would do anything for in a heartbeat. But, there was only one Misha. ‘Thank God,’ he thought irreverently, feeling an inintended smile spread as he focused back on finishing the assembly of what passed for dinner.

They headed back to the couch to eat, neither of them needing to say anything as they did so.  Jensen relished the warmth relaxing into his limbs and the sudden absence of tension highlighted just how wound up he’d been. Somehow they’d already hit of the bottom of their second glass, and the bottle.

“Another round?”

“Absolutely,” Misha answered, as Jensen took the plates back to the kitchen before returning, second bottle in hand.

“You’re uncharacteristically quiet,” he noted, not looking up from pouring.

“I’m just taking your lead Jen.”

“You mean waiting ‘til I’m drunk enough that I start purging my soul to you,” he countered ruefully.

“Well if you want to be cynical about it… yes, so drink up!” Misha instructed, raising his own glass.

Jensen sank down into the couch, leaned back with a sigh and fixed his eyes on the ceiling. Maybe he should just rip off the band-aid and get on with it.

“I don’t know Mish…” he breathed after a few moments. “I haven’t felt like this before. I come home from work and I just can’t seem to… to… find my level. This fucking rollercoaster-- well it’s not even that, ‘cause rollercoasters at least have ups…” He trailed off, not really able to remember where he was going with it.

“You’ve let Dean have free reign in your head before. What’s different this time?” asked Misha perceptively, ending the pause.

Jensen mulled it over briefly. “I dunno, it’s just-- He’s not really in my head. I’m putting him to rest most of the time, so it’s not like I’m consciously _feeling_ him, or thinking about him and work and-- but I feel… like I can’t breathe half the time. I’m okay one minute and the next I just get angry, for no reason.  Just stupid little things piss me off and I want to break something.  And that’s not ME, or it hasn’t been me in a long time, which pisses me off even more,” he finished with a sneer directed at himself.

His friend patiently waited for him to continue.

“I’m tired man…” He let out a soft chuckle. “I sound like Dean, but I’m just… tired. But like wired too, you know? I’m sitting around the set or even at home and I suddenly realize I’m all tense, all the time, and I shouldn’t be. It’s not like I have anything to _worry_ about.”  He feels himself rolling his eyes at his own assertion. “I’ll go hit the treadmill or whatever and feel great for a while, but then an hour later I’m back to where I started - holding my breath, my back locked up, frustrated with every little damn thing.”

It was starting to pull itself together, all the turbulent shadowed thoughts he’d been determined not to inspect or name, since he didn’t have the energy or time to deal with this shit. It was sort of satisfying to start to map and articulate them, to himself as much as to his friend. He knew what was happening - character bleed was nothing new. He just didn’t really understand how or why it was having the effect on him it was.

He took another big mouthful of wine and rolled his head to the side to eye Misha, who remained quiet. His friend looked unperturbed, his head propped up on his fist and elbow leaning on the back of the couch as he appraised Jensen with a look that originated somewhere between contemplation and compassion.

“You getting all this?” Jensen asked sullenly as he raised his eyebrows in a manner that he hoped at least aimed for sarcasm, or whatever.

 He took another gulp. He should probably stop soon - his mood was teetering somewhere between vulnerable and belligerent, and he didn’t like feeling either.

Misha answered more solemnly than he anticipated. “How long has this been going on Jen?”

“Uuh, a month? Maybe two…? I dunno.  I’m losing track of where we are. It feels like we’ve been going much longer than we have this season.”

“Hmmm.” Misha just kept on looking at him with the same soft appraising gaze.

The silence stretched out. Not filled with anything, just a silence. Jensen had always appreciated Misha’s ability to be silent with him, although it was probably something most other people would find hard to believe about Misha Collins.

Jensen finished his glass with a long swill. On one hand it felt gratifying to finally give a voice to his messy insides, half overwrought and half numb. But on the other, he just felt grumpy for not being more on top of things. Jesus, he’d carried Dean around for years, done this exhausting job for _years_ now, and everything he got back from it usually made up for the energy it sucked out, and helped him handle the emotional washing machine he sometimes found himself in. But now he just felt depleted, and rapidly losing the usual drive he’d always taken for granted.

“You know-- don’t wig out, but it almost sounds like mild depression to me,” pondered Misha, his voice breaking Jensen out of his reverie.

“What?” he scoffed. “Naa...” 

Not him, not something like that. He could be introverted and self-contained sometimes, he knew that, but overall he was a pretty easy going and, well, _happy_ guy.

“I’m not saying you’re _there,_ ” Misha continued evenly. “But having some… familiarity-- it sounds like that’s where you could be headed if you can’t change what, or how, this is affecting you.”

Jensen thought about it for a moment, although his brain was definitely becoming a bit sluggish at this point.  “Huh,” was all he could really offer.

“In my completely unofficial, unprofessional and unsolicited opinion,” Misha went on, “it sounds like the constant dispirited ‘Dean’ state those fuckers in L.A. are having you play, day in and day out, might be lulling your body into thinking those emotions are the new norm. You really _feel_ it Jensen, and sustaining it like you do, like you’re having to, well…” He paused before elaborating. “You know me, I’m not around much and I just show up to do my part, so I have to go on the little you’ve volunteered and what I hear through the grape-vine… but, if they are really pushing Dean to the brink, then it’s understandable he’s dragging a bit of you with him.”

“But I’m not… _sad,_ ” Jensen protested. If anything he wanted to break stuff. Or just hide out and sleep. “I’m more… angry? Well, unpredictable really. My mood will just blow up, like I never know how I’m going to react.”

Misha squared his gaze. “If your emotions are taking you for a ride, I suspect the frustration and volatility come from not being in control. I’m not telling you anything new by calling you a control freak,” he winked back, half challenge and half apology.

“Ah-huh,” Jensen said flatly, narrowing his eyes.  ‘Whatever,’ he thought, bristling somewhat at the observation, as true as it was. 

He felt another wave of frustration as the reasoning sank in. He _was_ the one who was always calm. It’s what he aspired to, in truth, and it _did_ irk him to not have that under his thumb.  Maybe Misha had a point.

 He was a guy however, and guys needed solutions. “So what do I do, Doctor Krushnic?” he asked with only a hint of cheek, getting a broad smile in return nonetheless.

“Well I would suggest you need to reverse the trend, maybe seek out or make time for things that give you a high. Hit the pleasure button Jen, chase some dopamine and remind your brain what normal should be, and it might find its equilibrium again.”

“Okay.” Jensen responded slowly as he took that in.

“Maybe un-complicate life as much as you can for a while - ditch any obligations that aren’t important, don’t take on anything new, and take all the time out you can… ease the pressure. You give a lot, to everyone, not just this job.” 

Misha paused. “But hey, don’t take me too seriously, I’m no expert… I’m just drawing on advice I’ve heard, in the past,” his friend finished with a slight shrug before concentrating on his drink.

He clearly didn’t want to elaborate, but Jensen knew from past scraps of conversation Misha wasn’t being totally objective. He also actually seemed to be making sense, which was quite something given how adept he was at talking out of his ass.

Misha raised his eyes again to give him an earnest look. “Whatever it is, just promise me you’ll let Jare and me help and not shut yourself away, even if you want to tell us to fuck off, ok?”

Jensen let out a sigh as he frowned to himself and absorbed the conversation.  “Yeah, okay. And thanks.”

He was far from comfortable, but he had to concede he felt a little less weighed down for having talked about it. Was it really that bad? Maybe he’d been more out-of-it than he’d realized.

Misha distracted him from his internal debate by getting up and moving to stand behind him. His friend’s hands settled on his shoulders and gently began to knead.

He noted absently how _not_ taken aback he was that Misha was apparently giving him a massage. Still, he felt compelled to bring it up – they were more than well acquainted with each other’s personal space than friends had any right to be, but this was something new.

“Uuhh… whatch-ya doin’?”

“You said you were tense didn’t you… and geez Jen, you really are,” Misha observed as he dug his thumb deep into a knot, making Jensen grunt a little. “And you promised to let me help. So now you are at my mercy.”

Misha whispered the last sentence against his ear, sending a curious flush down his spine that made him want to lean his head into the warm breath. Fuck, he’s not in the right headspace to be drunk. He thought maybe he should get his friend to stop in case he started making embarrassing noises, but his shoulders were enjoying being worked by Misha’s long strong fingers – it was a dilemma.

He capitulated and let himself sink further into the couch, and the sensations: the welcome sedation of the alcohol, the softness in his back and rain steady outside against the glass. He hadn’t realized he’d closed his eyes, and probably could have fallen asleep if not for Misha leaving his post and coming back to stand in front of him, rescuing the tilting wine glass out of his hands.

“Hey, I need to make tracks and it appears you need to sleep,” Misha said softly.

“Mmmph, ‘kay,” he mumbled. “You okay t’ get ‘ome?”

“Yeah, I’ll just get a cab, with the rain.” Misha smiled down at him before walking back to the kitchen with the glasses. Jensen hauled himself off the couch to meet him in front of the door, taking a deep breath. Despite his drowsiness he felt oddly lighter than he had in weeks. He probably shouldn’t have tried to be stoic about this. There were times, given how much of their lives were spent in each other’s pockets in Vancouver that he tried to keep some space between himself, Jared and Misha. But perhaps it wasn’t best to make this one of those times, and he was glad they’d bullied him a little.

Misha came to stand in front of him, shrugging on his jacket. “Sweet dreams Jen. Thanks for letting me come and shrink you.”

“Thank _you,_ ” he returned sincerely. 

Jensen pulled Misha into a deep close hug. He closed his eyes and rested his chin on his friend’s shoulder, pressing his palms into Misha’s firm back. “Love you Mish,” he declared - not for the first time - as they partially pulled apart, arms still resting on each other.

“I know.  I have that effect on people,” Misha said with a grin, one hand curling at the base of Jensen’s neck.

Jensen became aware of Misha’s thumb absently rubbing behind his ear as they were caught in each other’s smiles. It was like the sensation flicked a tiny switch inside somewhere, and it seemed the most natural thing in the world to do was press his mouth gently to the corner of his friend’s, his lips barely grazing Misha’s as he pulled away. He half opened his eyes to see darkened blue ones cautiously questioning him, but whatever urge he was having wasn’t done with him yet and he leaned forward again to solemnly touch his lips against his friend’s.  It felt right, like a benediction of their friendship amidst an internal swell of gratitude.  And maybe a hint of curiosity.

It occurred to his dulled brain he was letting it go on for a moment or two too long, Misha’s mouth remaining passive against his. He pulled away, and he flashed his eyes to Misha’s before he looked at the floor, dropping his arms to his sides.

He tried to focus. ‘Ahh... sorry, not sure why I did that,” he said to himself as much as anything.

Misha’s hand slid down Jensen’s chest and away as he stepped back, a look of bafflement on his face.

“’S’okay,” he said, his voice scratchy. His eyes darting up to meet Jensen’s before they both looked elsewhere again. “So, I better go then,” he continued more decisively.

“Yeah, okay…” Jensen said as he stepped to open the door. “I’ll umm, see you tomorrow. You there early too?”

“Not so much, midday-ish I think. I’ll have to check.”

“Right, I’ll… umm, see ya when I see ya then,” Jensen managed as brightly as he could while feeling pretty damned dazed.

“Yep,” Misha returned with a lopsided smile. “Sleep well Jen,” he added before turning and heading out the door and down the hall.

Jensen looked after him with a frown before slowly closing the door. So, that was weird. Not awkward, just… _weird_. Between the wine and the sludge of emotions blocking him up, he was obviously losing his grip. And yet, and _yet_ , he didn’t feel at all _bad_ about the fact he’d sort of just kissed one of his closest friends. Well not sort of, he had fucking kissed him. _Shit_.

He groggily made the decision to forget it had happened for the moment and get himself to bed. He didn’t need to think about it, or think about anything for that matter. SLEEP. He needed unconsciousness right about now.


	2. Chapter 2

 

The next few days passed and he was grateful that the scenes Dean had weren't taxing, in that they at least didn’t require pulling out any big emotional guns. Likewise he was glad Misha was just his usual self, and if he’d been upset by the fact Jensen had… umm, _kissed_ him, it didn’t show. It was a relief, since the last thing he wanted was for Misha to feel uncomfortable about it.  _He_ still didn’t feel bad about it if he was completely honest, and he hoped it would stay that way. He did however find himself frequently glancing in Misha’s direction, trying to assess where his head was at. Misha was probably trying to do the same he concluded, since he kept catching his friend looking at him. This in of itself wasn’t exactly unusual; they had always sought out each other’s eyes, often to give each other a smile or wink when bored or, well, it’s just what they did. But now they found something else to look at pretty damn quickly when they caught each other in scrutiny. _Dammit_ if it carried on they were going to have to _talk_ about it, Jensen thought. At least it didn’t affect them when their characters had to be engaged - it was business as usual while the cameras were rolling.

Jensen wasn’t really surprised, however, when Jared gave him the third degree.

“So, you talked to Misha the other day huh?” Jared asked tentatively.

“Yeah, we... talked,” he confirmed flatly, trying to ignore the hesitation in his voice while his brain flashed to the memory of that weird goodbye.  Jared looked at him with arched eyebrows, clearly expecting more. _Fuck him_ he thought, irritated - albeit irrationally. He didn’t really want to think about that evening right now. He was trying to move on, feel 'better', and erase any awkward bits from his memory.  

Except curiosity trumped irritation. Or maybe he just wanted to head off one of Jared’s faces. “Why, he said something to you?”

“No not really, just that he’d talked to you and he thought you were ok. But he was going to keep an eye on you.”

“Hmm,” Jensen mused, pursing his lips. “Okay then. So you can quit worrying,” he said, throwing in a smile for good measure.

Clearly it wasn’t a sincere enough smile, as Jared continued. “Yeah, just thought I’d ask. I wondered if maybe you’d got pissed at him or something.  You guys seem a bit off.”

“Off?” _Fuck_.

“Yeah,” Jared paused. “You know, never mind. I figure whatever you talked about was between you so I’m not trying to pry. If he says you’re ok, that’s good. I trust him,” he added with soft snort. 

Damn straight it was private, thought Jensen. God forbid Jared found out he’d ‘accidentally’ planted one on Misha, and not in the ‘goofing-off being dicks to piss off guest directors’ or ‘playing into the fans’ fantasies’ way anyway. More in the ‘what you sometimes apparently do to your friends when you are drunk and your head is fucked up’ way. _Fuck_. He was starting to give himself a complex about it when it was NO BIG DEAL.

 It was Jared’s turn to change tack. “Hey, he mentioned having a few people round on Saturday afternoon, you in?”

He suddenly felt edgy. “Dunno. What’s the occasion?”

“Nothing special, just hanging out I think, since it’s going to be a short weekend and everybody’s sticking around.”

He thought about it, but no excuses were coming to mind right when he needed them. Jared gave him a gentle nudge with an elbow. “Come. I miss you. We haven’t been chilling together much lately.”

It was true. And Jared was giving him the full Sam puppy-eyes treatment.  “Okay, sure,” he conceded with as much sincerity as he could muster. Jared patted him on the shoulder with a wide grin of approval just as the PA turned up to tell them it was time to resume.

 

***********

 

He couldn’t remember how much he’d drunk when on Saturday evening Jensen found himself one of the last remaining at Misha’s apartment, clearing away the various plates, bottles and drinking vessels.  He wasn’t inebriated by any stretch; rather simply and pleasantly mellowed.  Jared hadn’t stuck around for long in the end as Thomas was sick, but Jensen had to admit it’d been an agreeable evening - talking bullshit mostly, as you do with a bunch of guys drinking together for no particular reason.  He and Misha had continued to play the ‘not looking at you either’ game all evening, so when he heard a laugh and a farewell, and the door clicking shut on the last guest, it was with an odd mixture of relief and apprehension that he realized it was just himself left.

He turned around from the kitchen counter to see Misha leaning against the door frame, arms folded and feet crossed in an effort to look casual but with hesitant eyes. “Don’t worry about clearing up,” Misha offered before clearing his throat. “Are you heading off, or would you care to join me for a post-soiree brandy?”

“Ahh... yeah sure, okay,” he answered. It was _Misha_ , and he was suddenly tired of trying to read any weirdness between them. “Hit me with your top shelf,” he invited, plastering on a grin of encouragement.

Misha’s answering smile was genuine as he visibly relaxed. “Follow me, good Sir,” he urged with a tilt of his head to lead the way back to the lounge, stopping at the buffet to pour them both a generous glass of shining liquid amber. They sat down in a semi-comfortable silence that stretched out, Jensen for his part happy to let the mood over the room come to rest.

“Thanks for coming tonight Jen,” Misha eventually announced. “I know you aren’t the most sociable creature, and after that other night, I... I’m glad you’re not hiding away. Being around others is, you know, good for you,” he finished awkwardly.

Jensen sipped the fragrant spicy drink that ran hot over his tongue. “Yeah, it’s good to get out, even if I have to force myself,” he volunteered.

He tried to give Misha a heartening smile. Now that they were alone he was surprised to feel calmer than he had all week. The familiar tranquillity of being around Misha settled on him and he let out a refreshed sigh.  Being out of step with his friend had bothered him more than he’d been aware. 

“So how've you been feeling? I hope I didn’t offend you playing doctor earlier, it was just what made sense to me and I wanted to help,” Misha appealed.

Jensen lifted his brows and nodded in reassurance. “Seriously, it’s fine. It made sense actually, once I thought about it. And I have been feeling better the last few days. I think ‘cause I’ve been, ah, distracted.” He didn’t know why he admitted that last part. “And I’m here aren’t I? Having fun.”

“Yes, you are here,” Misha returned, pleased. “Well I’m happy to hear that”.

They held each other’s gaze, their smiles seeming to bolster each other’s until Jensen broke away to continue enjoying his drink. He let his thoughts evaporate as the alcohol seeped warmly into his bloodstream.

Misha began recounting a story from set that had occurred earlier whilst Jensen had some rare downtime - something about a trick pulled on Mark that was obviously hilarious as Misha ended the telling doubled over in laughter. He’d missed the gist of it, focusing on Misha’s litany of expressions accompanied by animated graceful hands, and appreciating the fact he felt truly detached and slack for the first time in weeks. He chuckled along with his friend though; Misha’s laughter had always been infectious, to nobody more so than himself Jensen could admit.

The giggles mutually subsided and Jensen rolled his shoulders, feeling the knots contrasting against the freeness in the rest of his body.

“Come ‘ere,” Misha directed at him squarely, patting the small ottoman in front of where he sat.

“What?”

“Come'n sit down, and I’ll try and get rid of those sore points obviously still in your shoulders,” insisted Misha lightly.

Jensen appraised him warily for a brief moment but decided it didn’t sound like such a bad idea. His friend stood and pushed the ottoman closer with his foot while Jensen hauled himself out of the comfort of the couch. He made a soft snicker, making light of the faint flutter of butterflies inside.  Where had they come from?

“Is this wise, after what happened the last time you did this to me?”  He smiled crookedly and pushed up his sleeves.

“Well maybe I want it to happen again,” Misha returned with cheerful flippancy as he gestured for Jensen to sit.

Jensen felt the smile fade off his face as he turned and his eyes travelled to Misha’s, whose own expression slowly caved in. The tone melted away from their words as the meaning seemed to hang and morph in the air between them. If it was supposed to be a joke neither of them were laughing.

A tide of impulse picked him up slowly and began to propel him. Despite a hundred questions banging themselves against Jensen’s skull trying to gain entry, the thought that took up sole tenancy in his brain was that Misha stood a foot away from him with a mouth he need--no, _wanted_ to feel with his.

Well, _shit_.

He stood frozen from the sudden overwhelming and unfamiliar pull, but was saved from indecision by Misha reaching forward to give a light imploring tug on his shirt front. Jensen closed his eyes as Misha’s mouth met his, soft but challenging. He let it happen it at first, but then responded to the urge to press his lips harder against Misha’s, tilting his head and pinching his friend’s full top lip between his own.

Jensen felt the light warmth of Misha’s chest as he inched closer, his friend twisting his shirt in a firm grip. He raised his hand to Misha’s shoulder before inching it up to slide a thumb against his rough cheek. The kiss lengthened, simultaneously insistent and hesitant, inquisitive but gaining urgency as their lips began to pull and tug and tongues darted out tentatively to meet, until Jensen felt out of breath. He released their mouths to pause and rest his forehead against Misha’s, eyes still closed and his head swimming in the moment. He didn’t know what was happening and honestly had no capacity or desire to figure it out. _Something_ , however, was undeniably happening.

“Jen… I--” Misha breathed after a long moment.

“Shhh. For once Mish, don’t talk about it,” Jensen interrupted in a hoarse whisper. “Just--”

He cut himself off, the need to pour himself into Misha overtaking him. His raked his fingers into his friend’s hair above the nape and kissed him again, this time with voracity that took them both by surprise. Misha’s mouth yielded against his, lips parting as Jensen succumbed to the desire to just dissolve. The sensation of falling away from himself carried him as his tongue traced a brief outline of Misha’s top lip before darting inside to taste him, flashing against teeth.  After years of catching himself glancing at that goddam mouth (yes he could admit that right-the-fuck now) he needed to know every flavor inside, needed to follow the exact curve of his top lip to where it met the corner, needed to… fuck, he just _needed_.

Misha’s mouth grasped back at him as they took turns in slow but exhaustive exploration, taking in textures and angles, ranging to roughened chins and pausing for short breaths against cheeks.  Jensen held his friend in place at his neck, Misha still clenching Jensen’s shirt at his front and side as they stood toe to toe.

Jensen didn’t know if it had been seconds or minutes when he pulled back abruptly, panting, and huffed out a surprised chuckle. He actually felt dizzy and bowed his head without letting Misha go.  After a moment he raised his eyes to Misha’s, dark and glazed beneath their black lashes, and who didn’t look like he was having any more success focusing than himself.

“Say something,” he rasped out, finding no answer in his friend’s expression after a long moment.

“You told me not to,” Misha murmured back.

Jensen smiled through a light scoff. “Since when do you listen to me?”

“Apparently since you started kissing me.”

“You were the one who started… this...” Jensen retorted as his eyes dropped take in a circuit of Misha’s mouth, neckline and back to his eyes.

“You were the one who stuck your tongue in my mouth.” Misha’s voice managed to retrieve some of his custom banter even if his eyes remained a mixture of guarded and, well, _lustful_ was the most accurate description it occurred to Jensen. Huh.

That description of events should have brought him up short Jensen reasoned, but for only the briefest of seconds.  Instead his focus narrowed to ‘tongue’ and ‘Misha’s mouth’, his breath hitching as he lost himself in another sensuous wave. He pulled Misha slowly to him; his hunger tender but beseeching, and his tongue finding Misha’s in short massaging collisions. He didn’t know if he wanted to crawl inside his friend or drink him in as his hand started ranging measuredly from Misha’s neck along his shoulder and arm before sliding over his chest and back up to his jaw to hold him in place while his tongue licked round his friend’s lips and then ever more persuasively inside, raking over teeth and rooftop. Misha felt utterly pliable against him, and let out the faintest of groans at the back of his throat.

Jensen pulled away slightly in breathless fascination. “Fuck,” he whispered almost inaudibly, pausing to inhale before pressing at Misha’s mouth again, softer this time in short challenging kisses.

Misha’s hands were snaking under his shirt at his waist, the touch igniting a new sensation in Jensen’s spine and signalling his hips to pull forward to feel the light press of his friend’s stomach.

Jensen tried to slow the engulfing sensations, leaving Misha’s mouth to pass his swelling lips over his friend’s cheekbone and nose but not able break away from Misha entirely.

“You… wan… want t’ stay?” Misha breathed, sounding stunned.

Jensen edged back to look at him. His friend was almost trembling, eyes craving and tense. He supposed he looked the same. “Yes,” he said huskily, without consideration. Wait, what? 

He felt instantly weak, disorientated. _Get a grip,_ he scolded himself. “Umm, which… probably means I shouldn’t-- We shouldn’t be… shit.” he finished lamely.

 He was suddenly aware of all the questions he should be asking himself and it snatched him out of the moment. He forced his eyes to the ground as he took half a step back, although they each still had one hand gripping the other’s clothes.

Misha was silent, suddenly impassive. Jensen’s heart dropped and his mind spun. _Wha…what the fuck_?

Whatever this was, it wasn’t the wisest idea.  This was Misha, dammit. They had work, they had wives… _fuck_ , Danneel! _Jesus_.  And they were friends, more than friends... clearly. But the thought of something insane like whatever the fuck had just happened messing that up struck him like ice down his back. He couldn’t imagine his life without Misha in it somewhere. His head had officially moved from ‘messed-up’ to ‘lost-the-entire-fucking-plot’.

He ran his free hand run through his hair and felt his gaze wander back to his friend, taking in his frame from the floor up.  And yet, Misha, he was here, _now_.  And he looked about as wrecked as Jensen was feeling.

“Jen…” Misha began, his voice muted.

“Yeah?” His eyes focused back on his friend’s.  “Umm, yeah. I’d better go.  I don’t know. Shit, Mish?” he pleaded, hoping insanely Misha would come up with some brilliant commentary on the situation. It’s usually what he does, after all.

Misha didn’t appear to have anything to offer. In fact Jensen had never seen him look so… lost.  And it made him want to, well, kiss him again, frankly. _Whatever_ , he was going to. He couldn’t _not_.

 He reached his hand up from Misha’s shoulder and passed his thumb lightly over Misha’s bottom lip before replacing it with his mouth in a soft kiss he hoped would reassure them both, although of what, he didn’t know. They were both pretty lost, which is why he needed to GO he tried to remind himself.

He pulled away, stepping back completely this time. “Okay, so… I’m going to go and... ahh, try to… Okay, I’m just gonna go.”

He glanced at Misha again, who nodded. “Yeah, alright.”

Jensen paused on his way to the door, shrugging on his Jacket.  “You okay?” he asked. He didn’t want to leave the moment with his friend thinking he was just running out on this mess.  Although he was, he accepted.  He just-- _they_ just needed to pause and figure out what _this_ was.

“I really don’t know Jen,” Misha said with a slight shake of his head. “I don’t know if I’ll ever be okay again,” he added with a mocking half-smile that was interrupted by a frown.

Jensen huffed softly as he searched his friend's face. “Hmm,” was all he could manage.  Confusion laced with acute yearning was rendering him all but useless. At least he could look his friend in the eye.  He _wanted_ to look him in the eye in fact, but that wasn’t helping him leave. “Okay, I’ll see you. We’ll talk later, yeah?”

“I’d say that’s inevitable,” Misha answered, forced brightness returning. “Just… take care.  I’ll see you on Monday.”

“Yeah, Monday.  Okay.  I’ll see you.  Night Mish.”

He tried for one last apologetic smile as he turned out the doorway before hearing the apartment door shut behind him. He felt totally off balance as he made his way to the elevator, like he was drunk but at the same time frighteningly sober. Once inside he leaned his head back against the elevator wall and did an inward groan. The sensation of descent echoed what was going on in his body and he closed his eyes - this was all too much. And yet there was a type of buoyancy inside him he couldn’t name. He didn’t want to either. He needed to think, as much as he wanted to avoid doing just that.


	3. Chapter 3

The next day though, Misha was _all_ he was thinking about.

He tried to mindfully relax since it was the only full day off they had this week, busying himself doing things he should enjoy: calling his folks, listening to music, playing a little too. Jared called to ask him if he should come over for a beer and watch the game later on, which Jensen agreed to with genuine enthusiasm. Some distraction would be welcome - he just hoped he could act normal in front of his best friend despite feeling completely off kilter.  Jared _would_ notice; he was too damn perceptive and tuned-in to Jensen’s frame of mind.

A sense of unwelcome disconnection followed him round all day but he knew it was better not to give in, the knowledge not preventing him from picking up his phone more than once itching to send Misha a text.  He sent a few to his wife, and luckily she was out at an event all afternoon and he could get away with just the usual checking-in. He couldn’t bring himself to talk to her despite wishing he could, even just to hear her voice. It might break him out of the dream he was in.  He was haunted all day however, with both apprehension and the fluttering of something intangible until Jared finally arrived and rescued him from his turmoil.

They passed the late afternoon in easy companionship and Jensen found for a few moments at a time that he could actually ignore the ghosts of Misha’s lips, hands and musty-sweet taste of his mouth. But then, when he wasn’t expecting it, the memories would slam back in waves that erased any other thoughts and made his body pine with tugging swirling needs. It was more than a little disconcerting. 

He was going to have to get himself together otherwise work this week was going to be a nightmare.

“Everything ok?” Jared asked at one point.

“Yeah, sure. Why?”

”You seem a little… spaced-out,” he pointed out with characteristic directness.

“Yeah, you know, just… thinking,” he shrugged. “It’s fine, I promise. I’m good.”  He kinda was, he thought, despite everything. Just add confused-as-fuck to the mix.

“Was a good night last night, yeah? Glad you came out and joined the land of the living?” Jared raised his eyebrows and delivered a friendly slap to Jensen’s shoulder.

“Ha-ha,” he returned with token sarcasm, before changing tone. “Yeah it was good. Nice to laugh, which I haven’t done much lately, I’ll be the first to admit.” He gave Jared what he hoped was an appeasing glance. He didn’t really want to carry on a discussion of last night’s details lest he start squirming or worse, his dick start twitching as it had done a few times today thinking about it. _Oh shit_ he chastised himself, _why did I have think that._ Now he was going to be aware of it. Fuck. Another wave tension peppered with unwelcome arousal of drifted over him.

Jared was vaguely side-eyeing him. “Hmm. Yeah well, let’s make it a habit J. I miss you. Everyone has missed you.”

“Sure,” Jensen nodded back. Some things do seem to be turning into a habit, he noted wryly. “I appreciate I need to make an effort to be social in order to reclaim my… effervescent self,” he said with a cheerful dance of his brows. Making Jared smile ended that line of conversation at least.

After the easy evening with his best friend and familiar hug goodbye he felt relaxed again. It was something he did; picking up on and assimilating the energy of people around him. It was also why he’d become discerning about whom he spent a lot of time with.

Misha was no exception, but he was also entirely unique. Jensen always felt on the edge of a precipice with him. It was unpredictable, even reckless at times; kind of like looking down from a height and experiencing an absent force willing you to jump, but at the same time, feeling inexplicably safe.  It was one of the many anomalies that came with knowing Misha Collins.

 _Dammit Misha,_ the thought of his friend immediately constricting his throat. He felt the virtual pull of his phone again. Okay, it had been a whole day. Yes he was concerned Misha wasn’t freaking out or upset about the turn of events the previous evening, but more than that, the keen feeling of absence made him ache for contact - any kind of contact. _What the fucking hell had happened to him_?

He thumbed out a noncommittal text.

**Hey. You ok?**

That the reply came back quickly was a substantial relief.

**I’m great, thanks for enquiring. And you?**

He kept it simple and curt. He really wanted to say more, despite not having any idea what to say.

**Good.  C U tomorrow.**

The return message made him chuckle however.

**See you Jensen. Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx**

_Little shit_ , he thought. This is no joke. Although with a deep sigh he noted the tension that had returned on Jared’s departure had eased a little.

Work tomorrow was going to be interesting to say the least he thought, making his way to bed for an early night. On one hand, there was an entirely new compulsion he felt in every atom to see Misha again, but on the other he felt caged in by the outright insanity of that need. The two driving forces in his life were his marriage and his work, and how could he reconcile them with this? In terms of the job, how could it be the same if he was intent on fucking things up with Misha? ‘Cause surely this... this whatever-the-fuck was only going to fuck things up. It probably already had, he thought disconsolately.

And what about his headspace? He’d had enough trouble managing his emotional reactions recently, before he started kissing his friend, fuck it all. The timing was insane to suddenly start acting on crazy impulses, since his judgement was already off. Then it struck him that maybe it was exactly _why_ this had happened, it was some kind of misguided attempt to use his friend like a lightning rod for the turbulence he was So. Fucking. Over.  And that was totally unfair to Misha, no matter how he might be feeling about what had occurred.  Shit, what had he done?

As he lay down his thoughts swirled, and he tried to resist the futile instinct to beat himself to oblivion with his pillow while he waited for sleep to rescue him from himself.

 

**********

 

Work over the next few days turned out to be both better and worse than he anticipated. Better, because it wasn’t so uncomfortably obvious as he feared that there was a shit-ton of unspoken whatever going on between he and Misha, and they managed to carry on and do the job without any obvious issues. It was lucky, he supposed, that they both had the professional composure to don their characters like clothes and ride out their scenes as no one but Dean and Castiel. In contrast however, downtime on set was increasingly baffling and frustrating.

For the first few days in the week they traded a few shy smiles and more than a few sidelong stares, but they both seemed to stick to some implicit agreement to not be alone together and successfully avoided it at all costs. Yet during scene or food breaks when Jensen found himself  - as he normally would - seated next to his friend, they took turns at indulging in subtle gestures Jensen wasn’t sure were born of a physical need or desire for reassurance, or maybe a bit of both.

For example, they might be talking with others but Jensen would find his leg stretching to rest solidly or sometimes sway against Misha’s under the table, or they’d be passing something to each other and their fingers would linger slightly in the grazing contact. Sometimes they’d be sitting, shoulders touching, and he’d feel Misha leaning his weight almost imperceptibly into him, and he couldn’t help but gently nudge back. Even their usual playground shoving around, when he didn’t purposefully avert it, seemed gentler, overlaid with a timid intimacy Jensen was drawn into despite a part of his brain screaming at him to run away. He honestly didn’t know if this looked unusual to the people around them given their standard imposition into each other’s space. But it sure _felt_ unusual.  

Or maybe they were both just hyper aware, which he reasoned could explain why their interaction evolved as the week went on.  When they’d initially shyly sought out the shock that passed between them at these moments, at some point the inclination altered to where one or the other of them abruptly veered away from them. Whether this was born out of being self-conscious or something else, Jensen wasn’t sure, but when Misha did so, he was left feeling cold and exposed.

As the days went on, avoidance of any surreptitious touching or eye contact became the default, and Jensen began to get outright grumpy from his inability to know what was going on in Misha’s head, as well as the parallel physical frustration. He suspected his friend’s mood was souring as well, especially when he started becoming uncharacteristically abrupt. With everyone.  

By Thursday, he kept glancing in Misha’s direction but never once caught him looking back; in fact he seemed cool and detached.  Probably not dissimilar to how _he’d_ been coming across to everyone else for several months now, Jensen registered.

Nothing about this was going to dissolve away as Jensen had half hoped it would. He wasn’t trying to deny what had happened, his fucking acutely Misha-attuned body wouldn’t let him, for one. He just still hadn’t figured out what to do with it, and avoiding deciphering the puzzle was a hell of a lot easier. But he didn’t want that to mean avoiding Misha, or Misha him. It agitated him, to be honest.

Clearly they had to talk about it, and soon. The whole situation was making him feel like a teenager again, and not in a good way. Come to think of it, they were probably both acting with less emotional maturity than two married men in their thirties should. They were self-aware, articulate, and close friends - they shouldn’t have to negotiate mixed signals.

The verdict was emphasised after lunch when Jared cornered him. “So do you wanna explain what’s going on with Misha?”

 _Geez, be more blunt would you Jared he thought._   “Meaning?” he asked back.

“Meaning, I figure you’ve had some kind of… _incident_ , ‘cause both of you are stalking around and jumping at the sight of each other.”

“Really? It’s nothing,” he frowned back. _Crap_.

“Well it doesn’t look like nothing,” Jared countered. “And a couple of people have quietly asked me what’s the deal?”

“Oh. Okay.” It was pointless to lie to Jared, and he didn’t want to. “Something happened, and we might be having a little trouble… getting past it.” It was the truth, even if it was deflecting.

“Uh-huh. Well, if you aren’t going to elaborate, then would you try to fix it?” Jared implored gently. “For both _your_ sakes, as much as because people are noticing.”

Jensen pouted at him but only received a nod of encouragement in return before Jared took his right hand and gave it a squeeze. “I don’t like seeing my boyfriend and his boyfriend not all puppies and rainbows,” his friend added, deadpan. Okay, thought Jensen, so the layers in this joke were starting to compound.

“Jared, you’re a dork,” he said back straight-faced, before pulling Jared’s hand to press it theatrically over his own heart. “But you’re my oversized dork,” he added, mock adoration distorting his face.

“That’s all I need to hear!” Jared squeaked out, exaggeratedly wiping a pretend tear from one eye.

Jensen let his hand go and made a shooing gesture at him, shaking his head. “Go… go! I’ll fix it, I promise.” Jared backed away with a grin.

He turned with a groan and pulled his phone out of his pocket to send Misha a text, only to find there was one from him already waiting.

**We need to talk. When are you free?**

_Fuck_. He wasn’t ready for this. Would he ever be ready for this?

There wasn’t going to be any time until the afternoon, and it would be irresponsible to get into something when there was still work to do if it all turned to shit. And it might if Misha was angry at him, which seemed to be the case.  Although when he thought about it, it made him a little pissy too – not that he could put his finger on why. It didn't help that everything seemed to be eluding him. Normally he’d a problem all mapped-out, rationalized and explained by now.

He tapped out a suggestion.

**The end of the day. Meet in my trailer?**

There was no reply forthcoming, which did nothing to raise his spirits. Then they were filming and he had no chance to say anything, though there seemed to be nothing to be said right now. Luckily it was a complicated physical scene and none of their dialogue was to each other, so they could avoid each other’s eyes all they needed to.

When wrap was called he and Misha went in different directions. He headed back to his trailer to get changed not knowing if they were going to sort this out or not, and he felt leaden inside again. Maybe Misha had realised what a dick he was being about it all and was pissed at him for being a chaotic clammed-up mess. Maybe he’d decided it had been a huge dumb mistake and it had already irrevocably damaged their friendship.

Then came a tap at the door. He pulled it open to find Misha, changed now into a sweater and jeans, standing silently with an expectant expression.

“Hey, come in.” Jensen said, trying for a smile as he backed inside.

Misha stepped up and closed the door behind him. “Hey,” he returned flatly.

They both stood awkwardly, too far away from each other to be considered comfortable for them. Ironic really, Jensen thought.

“Where do we start?” Jensen asked. Since really he had no idea and leading with the obvious seemed the thing to do.

“I don’t know Jen, I--” Misha was cut off by a sharp rap on the door.

“Who is it?” Jensen called with a frown.

Mr Ackles,” He recognized one of the PA’s. “Just letting you know Bob wants to see you for a few moments before you leave if you’ve time.”

“Ahh, Okay, thanks. Tell him I’ll be there in five.” Jensen said back through the door. _Dammit_. He didn’t know if he should be relieved or disappointed. He hadn’t been looking forward to this but the way his insides had been in knots all afternoon he also wanted it over and done with.

He took a wary look at Misha, who was leaning against the doorframe, hands in his pockets and eyes focused on the ceiling. “I guess it’s a rain-check then,” Jensen sighed.

Misha’s ice-blue eyes flicked back to drill into him. “I guess. We need to talk though. What about tonight? Can I come over?” he appealed firmly.

“Yeah... yes. Umm, I’ll send you a text when I’m home?”

“Okay, good. Please do that.”

Misha turned to leave with the barest of smiles. Jensen’s heart sank. That they were in such a crappy awkward place rattled him. It was all wrong. Fuck, he’d messed this up, and the thought sliced through his gut. If only he had an idea of what Misha was thinking. But, for all their intimacy and the way Misha could finish half of Jensen’s fucking sentences, the damn guy was unreadable if he chose to be, even to him.

“I’ll see you later,” he finished as Misha descended the steps and was off with a soft “Yep” over his shoulder. Jensen sighed and changed into his own clothes before heading back to finish up his obligations for the day.

 

**********

 

Jensen arrived home later than he’d hoped, since his ‘few moments’ with Bob had turned out to be a lure into a heart-to-heart about his 'issues'. Christ they'd even noticed in L.A. At any other time it probably would have helped, but his work headaches had been overtaken by the ‘Misha situation’ and he just ended up more on edge.

He’d picked half-heartedly at the takeout he’d had Clif grab on their way, had as long and as hot a shower as he could stand, and ambled round his apartment clearing a few things away before deciding he couldn’t procrastinate any longer.

 He picked up his phone and pulled up the message string to Misha.

**Home.  Come over when you’re ready.**

The reply was almost instant.

**Will be there in 15.**

Right then, he must have been waiting, and it was only a short walk between their buildings. He couldn’t bring himself to do anything other than sit and wait, all the while cursing at doing something weird and stupid that had possibly damaged one of the best and bizarrely rewarding relationships in his life.

True to his word, it wasn’t long before Misha knocked on the door. Jensen opened it with a weak smile as his friend came in and peeled off his jacket before dropping it over the back of the couch. They both stood appraising each other, trying to navigate the unfamiliar space between them.

Jensen couldn’t stand the panicked feeling inside him anymore.  He’d started this and he was so confused because he didn’t really know why it had happened and he regretted that they suddenly had this huge gulf between them because they’ve never NOT been able to talk but he also couldn’t bring himself to regret WHAT had happened because it HADN’T felt wrong and to be honest it actually felt unbelievably right and why on earth did it feel right when it couldn’t be right because there were so many things wrong with it and he didn’t trust his feelings anyway about anything right now because he was so messed up and yet he couldn’t stop thinking about Misha’s mouth and taste and why did those thoughts always make him feel like a wall inside him was breaking and he really should have kept his word to talk about this earlier instead of avoiding it all week because now  Misha was pushing him away and he couldn’t let that happen because this was all making him feel sick because this was MISHA and he fucking loved the stupid little imp and he just wanted to hug him for like an hour and bury his nose in his neck and close his eyes and WHAT THE FUCK.

 He couldn’t focus, so he just said the only thing he could.

“Mish, I’m sorry.”

“Sorry for what, exactly?”

“I’m sorry for what happened, for… for kissing you, for one,” Jensen heaved out.

“You’re sorry for kissing me?” Misha returned quietly.

Jensen was trapped in a pause. “Yes. Well… I’m sorry it’s messing us up, ‘cause I hate this Mish, I just...” he was feeling too much to articulate it.

“I kissed you too, remember,” Misha pointed out. ‘True’ Jensen thought, but he’d been the one to set them on this road of… whatever.

“And I don’t regret that,” his friend added firmly.

“You don’t?” Jensen flashed his eyes up to Misha’s, whose were steady.

“No. I don’t. Because I think I needed to,” Misha confessed. “And I decided a long time ago to not avoid things I wanted because of risky consequences. Even you, apparently,” he finished somewhat cryptically.

“Even me?” Jensen prompted, trying to understand.

“Yes, you.” Misha said in an almost accusatory tone, though of what, or to whom the accusation was levelled at, Jensen wasn’t sure.

He decided on a different tack.  “I’ve felt you pulling away this week, and I thought... I thought maybe you regretted what happened… that you realized it shouldn’t have happened and... and you were trying to put some distance between us. But Mish, I hate that, I can’t stand being around you and having this...this _void_ between us.” he finished honestly while looking at the floor. Fuck, he almost felt like crying. And irritated again; he was so tired, and tired of being so fucking emotional.  He let out a rapid deep breath and shook his head.

Misha was quiet for a moment. Then Jensen felt his friend take his hand, crooking their little fingers together and giving a light squeeze. “I’m sorry Jen, I was pulling away,” Misha started gently. “But only because I thought _you_ regretted it. To be honest I thought asking you to stay that night would rightly _completely_ freak you out, and… and anyway, I didn’t want to let myself get hurt any more than necessary, but then I realized the horse has kinda bolted on that score and I...” Jensen dared to bring his eyes up to Misha’s face as he trailed off. “And I also thought you needed your space. I didn’t want to influence how you felt about it, cause I know you’re already… under pressure.  I told you to un-complicate your life, remember? And here I am doing the opposite.”

“ _You’re_ not complicating it,” Jensen corrected after a few moments. “I kissed you first remember.”

“And I kissed you second,” Misha parried.

“Hmm.” He conceded, shoving his free hand in a front pocket. “You haven’t even looked at me the past couple of days. I figured you were pissed at me for doing something selfish and... well, ill-advised.”

“Selfish? Fuck Jensen, be selfish all you want if that’s the case,” Misha said with a flashing impudent grin before continuing earnestly “I make a habit of not collecting regrets. _You_ know that.”

Jensen nodded and looked at the floor again. So Misha wasn’t mad at him? Good. And he thought Jensen regretted it? God, it might be easier if he did - at least then he’d know what to do.

Misha gave his finger another squeeze and continued gently. “If anything I’ve been pissed at myself. I don’t want anything shitty between us. And I didn’t want to let myself think I could _have_ something that ultimately I won’t.”

“Won’t what?”

“Have _you_. Damn you.” Misha emphasized with a subtle shake of their linked hands.

Jensen tried to get his head round his friend’s intent. “So, you _want_ something to… happen, here?”  He didn’t really know what that something might be. He hadn’t really given it any thought in all his obsessing over consequences.

“Yeeess,” Misha drew out, frowning, like he was only deciding as he said it. “Well, I’m not sure _what_ exactly, but I do know that kissing you made me feel more fucking alive than I have in ages and I’m not sure I can live with not doing it again.”

There was a long pause whilst Jensen took that on board.  At least he tried to, that was quite a statement.

“Jen?”

Jensen was lost for words. Or rather, words had ceased to be relevant, replaced in his head by the clicking of puzzle pieces as they fell into place. He looked at Misha with the absurd sensation of seeing a familiar face for the first time and felt something in him let go, abandoning any last tenuous foothold.

He tugged on their linked hands as he stepped closer to his friend, cupping his ear and cheek before leaning in.  The kiss he imparted was long and delicate but he had trouble holding the sudden wave of feeling out of it.

“Don’t do that if you don’t mean it.” Misha pleaded softly as they parted.

He gave his friend a searching look. “I mean it, Mish. I dunno what’s supposed to happen five minutes from now, but I do mean it, right now,” he urged.  And he did, not a doubt in any cell in him, as far as he could fathom.

He brought their mouths together again, plaintive but cautious before the tension began to dissipate and they softened against each other. Well not all of themselves, Jensen noticed absently as his crotch willed its way closer to Misha’s warmth, his whole body hastily searching for contact. Their breath and tongues mingled in a slow dance, not so much needy as reassuring. Jensen was surprised to find himself stilled once again. Even in unfamiliar territory such as this, Misha was soothing. Or maybe it was just that this was where he wanted to be.

 He pulled back before engulfing his friend in a tight hug. “Let’s not do that again, okay?”

“What… kissing?” Misha’s voice was muffled warmth against his neck. “’Cause I thought we just estab--”

“No, you _Ass._ ” Jensen cut off the smart remark he knew was imminent. At least something was back to normal, he thought, or whatever was passing for normal under the circumstances. “I meant leaving _not_ talking about something that needs to be talked about, for so long.”

He wasn’t sure if he was referring to just this week or something much bigger - either way it was what he meant.

“Mmmph,” Misha offered in agreement, snuggled as he was.

They stayed like that for what felt like an agreeably long time, the tensity and dread bleeding away. Jensen wasn’t sure if he could let his friend go. “Mish?” he said finally, the thought clarifying in his brain. “Will you stay here?  I… ahh, I don’t want you to leave. Please?”

“With you?”

Jensen huffed. “No, with the dog,” he dead-panned, gently letting Misha go to step back.

“You don’t have a dog. Well, you do, in fact you have several, but none here,” Misha shot back with feigned confusion.

“Misha,” Jensen said as exasperation crept into his tone. “Stop channelling Cas and answer me before I realize what I just asked you and take it back.”

Misha’s face grew serious. “Umm, yeah, if that’s what you want. Are you sure?”

“Don’t ask me if I’m sure, I don’t want to analyze it. I’m just… yeah, I’m not talking about _doing_ anything, uhh, specifically. I just… don’t want you to go,” he finally got out with a frown. The details of his request were not something he’d given any thought to. He just knew Misha leaving at this point would feel like being left in the cold.

Misha let out a long sigh and nodded.  Jensen breathed through a smile. ‘Okay then,’ he thought. ‘Shit. This was getting real.’ And yet he wasn’t nervous, more bemused at where they’d come from in the last twenty minutes to the point where he’d suggested… umm, _this,_ he concluded. Although he suddenly felt so unsteady being horizontal seemed the wisest option.

“Okay. Come on then. Lie down with me, okay?” Jensen invited in a somewhat timid voice as he nodded in the direction of the short hallway.

He turned and flicked off the lights as they moved towards the bedroom; dark was probably the best way to go, he thought. Not that either of them were shy, least of all with each other. But it did make getting into bed with his friend, definitely not in a ‘because you’re both drunk and need to crash’ way, marginally less startling.

They cast the odd shy glance at each other, their eyes adjusting to the gloom as they stripped to underwear. Misha hauled off his t-shirt without hesitation but Jensen felt… what?  Not embarrassed, but he wasn’t quite sure what he should be doing here - this might be taking a couple of steps in a new direction, but was it a get-naked situation? Misha was looking at him inquisitively, and Jensen couldn’t help willing his friend to give him an answer. The silent communication must have worked as Misha stepped cautiously in front of him and took a handful of his shirt above each hip, but then he bowed to lightly rest his forehead against Jensen’s collarbone.

Jensen let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding and tilted his head to lean it against his friend’s, closing his eyes and burying his nose in the hair above his Misha’s ear while leaving his arms at his sides.  They subtly leaned their weight into each other, just breathing, and Jensen discovered he was comfortably reassured by the nearness.  He hadn’t known it, but somehow he _needed_ this, and felt simultaneously hungry and satiated.

Eventually Misha pushed back to eye him with an expression he couldn’t define before tugging his shirt upwards, which he accommodated by raising his arms. Being undressed by his friend heralded an influx of goose-bumps, and not because he was suddenly cold. Misha’s cheek crooked with a one-sided smile as he tossed the clothing on the floor and then turned to cross the room to the opposite side of the bed.  They still hadn’t said a word, Jensen noted, as he slid under the covers to join him.

As they lay side by side in silence, Jensen felt himself begin to shiver.

“Are you cold?” Misha asked quietly.

“No it’s… just something I do, when I’m… umm, nervous, I guess. Being with someone… new.” It had been a long damn time, he admitted to himself.  He’d forgotten his body occasionally did this to him.

“I’m hardly new.”

“Well, _this_ is new. For us.”

“Yes you have a point. Is there something I can do to stop it?”

“Umm, touch me, I guess…” he ventured. It sounded embarrassingly coyer than he intended.

Misha chuckled. “Okay. Come here.” 

They turned on their sides and wriggled close enough that Jensen put his forehead into Misha’s shoulder as his friend pulled him into a one-armed hug.  Jensen sighed and relaxed into him as the subtle shaking slowly dissipated.

“This better?” Misha whispered as he started stroking fingers up and down the back of Jensen’s neck.

“Muh-hmmh,” was Jensen’s muffled reply.  He slipped his arm under Misha’s to slide it over his back, his palm brushing over the undulating muscles there under the smooth heated surface.

“You delicate flower you.”  Jensen felt Misha smile against his temple.

“Fuck off,” he mouthed against Misha’s throat, not meaning it in the least.

“You talk dirty to me all the time and yet here you are all a-quiver. Allow me my moment of amusement.”

“I say obscene shit to you to psych you out at work. Context is everything,” he added dryly.

 Misha let out a small huff. “Yes you might say this is a radical departure in context.”

‘You’re not wrong’, Jensen thought. But he couldn’t help squeezing tighter into Misha’s shoulder, drinking in the heat and smell of unfamiliar skin as he nuzzled, feeling a kiss laid on his ear.

“Can I ask you something?” Misha broke the short silence.

Jensen adjusted his head slightly to speak. “Don’t tell me you are asking for permission-- Oww!” he finished as his friend bit into the base of his neck with little restraint.

“That’s what ya get…” Misha’s tone was unapologetic. “Don’t worry, Dean’s collar with cover it up tomorrow,” he added in a merry whisper before proceeding to suck deeply on the same spot.

Jensen was beginning to wonder what he was getting into. Well, he _would_ be if he hadn’t already been wondering for it ninety-nine per cent of the past week. “You were saying?” he eked out, not really wanting to forgo the pressure on his neck just yet.

“Umm, yeah…” Misha muttered thoughtfully after a releasing Jensen’s heated skin. “Have you always suspected that I had… impure thoughts, about you?”

It was his turn to chuckle. “Impure thoughts? What are you, the big bad wolf?”

“Sometimes,” he growled back, inflicting another more leisurely bite for illustration.

This time Jensen couldn’t help but push into it with a small sigh, and tried to stay focused against the flutters of arousal. “Umm, A… no I haven’t, and B… how long have you had these ‘thoughts’?” He stopped himself before asking what those thoughts might consist of.

“Hmmm,” Misha contemplated. “Not long.  Well, not _consciously_. But I think they’ve been lurking for… a while. And I wondered if you’d picked up on that, by the way you tease me.”

“I make fun of most people,” argued Jensen.

“Not with the kinds of names and gestures you direct at me, you don’t,” Misha replied. “I thought maybe you… sensed it, and toyed with me on purpose.”

He had to think about that.

Apparently Misha was way ahead of him, adding in a tone that had ‘cat who got the cream’ written all over it. “Or maybe, that’s _your_ subconscious playing you--?”

“Shuddup Freud,” Jensen whined back. He wasn’t quite prepared to delve into that minefield. “I thought it was all just our ‘thing’. You know, our… _thing_.”

“Well, maybe this ‘thing’ has been our _thing_ all along.”

“I think we should stop talkin’ ‘bout it,” he shot back gruffly, distracting himself by wriggling even closer to Misha’s frame. He felt a lot more at ease with where they were - this was actually really… nice. It was just, _them_. But lying down. With no clothes. And the lights off. His friend let out a long breath that ended in a huff, pleasant warmth wafting down the back of his neck.

Their hands began wandering over each other in cautious exploration. They already knew each other’s approximate shape and texture, so Jensen found it curious to renew his understanding of Misha’s contours, but with skin bare. It felt like being home, but a new and intriguing one, and one that was slowly setting him on fire.

His breath hitched as Misha’s hand grazed his nipple, bringing it to instant attention, and he impulsively tilted his head back to latch his mouth to his friend’s before his body betrayed him with more shivering. He kissed Misha hard; harder and longer than he intended, nipping at his bottom lip in between licking inside, feeling teeth and answering tongue, their mouths wet and increasingly fervid.  His hips dove forward and ground against Misha’s, and he couldn’t help letting out a soft groan when his swelling erection bumped against his friend’s through the thin fabric remaining between them.  The sensation, however, was so unexpected that it broke him out of the moment, the sudden absurdity forcing him away from the kiss before he slowly erupted into a giggle.

 “Care to tell me what’s amusing you?” Misha asked, slightly breathless.

“You… you’re…  a guy,” Jensen stuttered through his chuckling.

“What? Fuck. You’ve only just noticed this minor detail? Great, thanks! I didn’t realised my manhood was so... indistinct!” Misha flung back in mock indignation. At least Jensen hoped it was only pretend. It was hard to tell in the relative darkness through his shakes of laughter, which only grew heartier at Misha’s reaction.

“Naa… No… I mean...” His laughing was turning slightly hysterical. “I mean, it only just occurred to me.”

“That’s my point!” said Misha, shoving him away at his shoulder, which only produced a new bout of giggles.

“No… ahh…” Jensen lay on his back and waited until his laughter subsided enough to attempt to speak coherently. “I mean, it only just occurred to me that it hadn’t occurred to me until now, if you know what I mean.”

“Umm, not sure I do, Ackles,” Misha snarled back.

“So, I’ve… umm, never been alone, in bed, with guy before. It’s not something I’ve ever... you know, pursued,” Jensen haltingly confessed.

“Neither have I? Well… not someone I care about anyway.”

Jensen filed _that_ ambiguous inference to bring up at a later date.  “It’s just… being here, right now, is _not_ freaking me out, and that’s what struck me as funny… how I’m not having... ah, a freak-out right now. I guess, ‘cause it’s you, it doesn’t… matter.”

Misha propped up his head using his elbow and narrowed his gaze at Jensen. “My maleness is irrelevant huh? And that’s supposed to make me feel better?”

“Oh fuck off, you know what I mean. I’m trying to pay you a compliment, I think... oh I dunno, whatever.”

Misha chuckled as Jensen stretched his arms to place his hands behind his head, letting out long-suffering sigh as he did. Fucking Misha.  In my bed.  ‘Maybe it’s not too late to start freaking out’, he mused.

“It’s good to hear you laugh Jen. I haven’t heard that much lately,” his friend said warmly as he reached over to arrange some stray hair off Jensen’s forehead.  He rolled his head to look up at him. No, he _was_ right, he was far from freaking out.

“But, if are going to invite me into your bed,” Misha began to declare, and Jensen was surprised to abruptly have his friend’s weight pinning him from above, hands trapping his arms overhead and eyes shining puckishly at him through the darkness. “Then you are going to have to acknowledge sooner or later that I. Am. A. Man,” he finished, emphasizing  each word with a sharp grind downwards from his hips that made Jensen’s breath catch in his throat. 

His half-hard cock reacted enthusiastically to the sudden pressure and friction, and he squirmed beneath his friend, aware of every point their bodies made contact.  He opened his mouth in shock only to be met with a kiss that was downright predatory, Misha’s tongue claiming him in long intruding licks before finishing with a drawn-out sucking nip on his bottom lip.

 “Jesus. Fuck. Misha!” Jensen gasped out when he was finally allowed some air.

“Well, near enough to both of those concepts I suppose,” Misha said with a smirk, before tilting his head and adding flippantly “I do have my own cult after-all… but, you can call me whatever you feel is appropriate in the dark.”

Jensen would have laughed if he hadn’t still been caught in the after-wash of a wave of arousal mixed with acute bewilderment.

His friend moved off to stretch out beside him again. He was still struggling to get his breath under control when he felt Misha’s fingertips tuck in the waistband of his underwear.

“Take these off,” Misha commanded lightly, snapping the elastic against Jensen’s already over-sensitive skin.

Something inside him performed a somersault.  He swallowed and glanced over. “Mish, I can’t… I don’t want to…” he quietly rasped out, not thinking about specifics.

“Neither do I,” assured Misha softly. “I just want to… feel you. All of you.”

Jensen tried to assess his friend’s stare in the vague light from the cityscape outside.

“You know, another tip if you are going to invite me to your bed, you are going to have to learn to take orders,” Misha intoned with dark intent. The answering surge of heat that flooded down his spine jolted him out of his consternation. Truth be told, it was more his custom to be on the delivery end of commands in the bedroom. The thought that this had the potential to get interesting danced through the very back of his over-stimulated mind.

“Okay,” he whispered, cautiously compliant. They wriggled out of their underwear, discarded them on the floor and rolled back to face each other.  Jensen felt Misha place warm fingers against his neck, stroking in small circles for a few moments in a reassuring touch before leaning in to bestow a lengthy tender kiss. He let himself ease into their mingling breath, his hand moving to spread over-top his friend’s to prolong the contact, unexpectedly relishing the strong fingers that curled over his jaw and neck. Their tips of their tongues flicked lightly together and he relaxed against his friend’s warm lithe body.

“Turn over,” Misha whispered eventually. Jensen gave him a circumspect look before obeying. He felt Misha’s length spread out behind him before an arm folded over his chest, hand finding his own to rest with interlaced fingers. Misha’s cock was flattened against his ass; a development that wasn’t as nearly perturbing as he might have imagined only a week ago.

“Umm, so am I going to have to always be the little spoon in this relationship?” he asked.  ‘Relationship?  Shit, that might not have been the most appropriate term to use out loud just yet,’ he assessed.  He felt Misha’s face stretch against his back.

“Shh. Go to sleep Jen,” was the muted warm reply.

The smile that Jensen felt creep onto his face seemed to extend its way right through to his limbs. He let out a long breath as he curled into his friend and closed his eyes. A warm blanket of contentment settled over him despite his body still humming like a tuning fork.  ‘Definitely not worth a freak-out,’ he pronounced to himself. But even so, a number of uneasy thoughts crawled into his mind as he willed sleep to close in.

 

**********

 

Jensen awoke on his side in the bleached dawn light to puffed lips drifting over his forehead and eyelids.

“Morning.” Misha whispered to him as his eyes blinked open and tried to focus. “I’d better go home and change.  Early start today and I can’t really get away with being picked up here for work,” he finished with a crinkly-eyed smile.

“Mmmph,” was all Jensen was capable of, half of him still asleep and the other half assimilating the matter of ‘waking up with Misha’ into his consciousness.

He closed his eyes again and felt his friend shuffle closer so they were touching at knees and forehead. Misha’s hand began to slide in slow comforting strokes over his triceps and down his side, imparting a small shock as it glided over his sensitive hip.  It continued the circuit over the rear of his thigh and upwards, leaving a warm trail across his ass cheek and back to his shoulder. He could have given in to the urge to fall back into sleep had it not been for fingertips brushing against his standard morning ‘semi’ and sensitive stomach on their reverse lap over his skin, which all but made him jump.

“Sorry,” Misha whispered through a broad smile, sounding far from sorry Jensen decided. Not that he found he needed an apology.

“Don’ be shorry,” he mumbled, keeping his eyes firmly shut while his brain steadfastly tried to hold on to its drowsiness.

“You’re cute in the morning,” Misha noted playfully as his hand moved with more purpose across Jensen’s hip to this time take a lingering feather-light pass the length of his thickening cock. He couldn’t help the faint whine he made, which of course only seemed to encourage Misha’s long fingers back to concentrate their attention on Jensen’s erection and balls in slow delicate caresses. Jensen’s hips involuntarily reacted to shift his crotch closer to the touch, chasing pressure, and his friend took the opportunity to wrap his fingers to fist Jensen with a firm squeeze before giving several small twisting jerks that made him gulp.

He let out a shallow plaintive groan as Misha’s hand left as quickly as it arrived.  The feeling of being left bereft was replaced by a surge of icy-fire through his groin as his friend shucked under the covers to lick him, flicking the sensitive ridge under the already straining head with his tongue. He still hadn’t fully caught up with what was happening ‘cause this… this was… FUCK.  

He felt Misha’s mouth close over his full length in a powerful suck that caused him to contract and breathe in small gasps, his eyes flying open and hand clawing into his friend’s hair. Misha’s ridiculous tongue flicked in light circles down his shaft, caressing his balls and then reversing to the tip before bestowing several further slow sucking draws, banishing the last of his morning grogginess in the process.

“Unnnhh,” he whined, as Misha’s mouth abandoned him before he wriggled back up to Jensen’s level in the bed, pausing to confer a few sucking kisses to his torso on the way. Jensen let out another gasp as Misha finished with a bite to Jensen’s shoulder whilst simultaneously taking his now spit-wet cock back into his grip.

Jensen’s skin began singing with needy prickles as his friend’s hand slowly jacked him off. He was utterly helpless in Misha’s clasp, the strength and surety of the foreign hand affecting him in a wholly new way. He fixed his eyes on the resolute ones staring intently back at him to try to steady himself, his breathing forced and uneven.

The sudden warm pooling of orgasm in his lower back gathered intensity, fast and inescapable; it had been a while since it had caught him in a flash flood like this and he arched his legs in preparation to be washed away.  Misha gave him several swift hard strokes that pulled him over the edge in a silent choke as his ass and balls tensed and his cock shuddered and spilled - dark perceptive eyes never leaving his.

As he swam through the aftershocks he closed his eyes in an attempt to recover. His friend’s hand released its light grip, running a line up over his stomach and chest that gave him one last shiver. He felt Misha leave a wet salty smear across his lower lip with a thumb before cupping his jaw and imparting a kiss that delicately licked his partially closed mouth before lips brushed his nose and forehead. It seemed like a promise - one he was at once desperately aroused by, afraid of, but craved with every fiber.

He felt like he was underwater, and fluttered open his eyes again to try and find gravity and some air. Misha was looking at him intently with an indiscernible expression. He let his gaze be captured, his mind erased and his insides still strumming.

“I really have to go,” his friend whispered regretfully after a minute or two had passed. Jensen was still completely pliant, not even capable of registering an appropriate reaction to the fact Misha had just made him fucking _come_. But he tried to pull his thoughts together as the other man left the bed to pull on his clothes.

“Wait,” he said roughly, willing himself up to sit and wrapping his arms over his knees. “We haven’t talked about what happens now.”

“What do you want to happen, Jen?”

He frowned. “Honestly, I hadn’t got that far.” He drew in a long breath. “But, I need to talk to D. I can’t… _do_ _this_ , and keep her in the dark. There’s too much… ah, at stake.”  He was suddenly shaky, implications swarming through his head.

“Yes, you should.” Misha’s tone was resigned and his eyes left Jensen’s. “I need to inform Vic too”.

“ _Inform_ her?  Of what, exactly?”

“Well, she needs to know. But let’s say she perhaps won’t be surprised by this turn of events.”

“Excuse me?”

Misha’s eyes flicked back to his as he finished pulling on a sock. “She’s seen us, Jen. She knows we share something… unusual.  She even once told me if anything were to… _happen_ with you and I, that I should, umm, go for it.”

Jensen stared at the wall behind his friend in silence. His brain was severely overloaded given the import of the conversation combined with the events of the past fifteen minutes.

“Jen?”

“Shit.”

“Mmm.”

“Seriously?”

“Well, she’s open-minded. And observant. She knows… how I feel about you,” finished Misha, looking away with a slight shrug.

Jensen felt himself swallow with difficulty. He was almost afraid to ask.

“And how’s that?” he asked, his voice scratchy.

“I think you probably know,” Misha replied with forced lightness, but Jensen felt arrested by the indigo gaze.

“Yeah but you love everyone, Misha,” Jensen argued offhandedly with a lump in his throat.

“Not… quite like you, Jensen.”  Misha’s stare was starting to make Jensen uncomfortable.  It went on a long time, even for them. The sensation of falling, and wanting to follow it, hit him with full force. He finally jerked his eyes away and took a long breath. He _really_ wished he didn’t have to work today. Although curiously, rather than making it awkward he was relieved to know Misha would be there.

“You also need to think if you really want something here.”

“What _is it_ , here, Mish?” he pleaded. He would find it very helpful of someone could fucking explain it to him thank you.

“I have no expectations Jen.  And I’ve no need to define this,” Misha supplied gently, shoving his hands in his pockets. “But I was serious when I said I didn’t want to complicate things for you when you have a lot going on. Both for your sake and for mine, because I don’t want you taking ‘this’ on while you’re… vulnerable, only to realize later it was a mistake. It would be hard for me to come back from, and given the nature of how we have to work together… Well, Dean and Cas might have some new subtext,” he said with an ironic smile. “But, ‘nough said.”

Misha turned quickly to find his shoes before sitting on the bed to put them on.

“I’m leaving for the airport straight from work, so…” Jensen felt tired again and didn’t really know what he was trying to say.

“I’ll just see you when you get back. I’ll be here for the weekend, since I’m going home for a while when the episode wraps next week.” Misha turned with a forced smile. He looked like he was struggling with something, Jensen observed. He reached to lay a palm on Jensen’s forearm giving it a gentle squeeze.

“I’ll catch you at work. Try not to kiss me.” He finished with a smirk.

‘Irrepressible bastard,’ Jensen thought, giving him an obligatory eye-roll.  He added a head-shake since it was a fair point, he decided.

Misha stood and slipped out the bedroom door with just a watery parting smile. Jensen waited until he heard the click of the main door shut, before flopping backwards on the bed and running his hands through his hair, closing his eyes on his swirling thoughts. He tried to find the inner fortitude to deal with both the long day ahead and the flight home to L.A. He purposefully avoided speculating on the outcome of what was possibly going to be one of the most difficult conversations he would ever have with his wife. Right now he didn’t have a clue how to even approach it. But he knew he had to, because the thought of _not ever_ waking up with Misha again troubled him more than he was willing to explain.


	4. Chapter 4

 

Misha was strung out.  Seriously.  He’d spent all weekend a walking charge of nervous energy, and he hadn’t heard a thing from Jensen. And it was fucking _killing_ him.

Work on Friday had been fun in the end - in the same way running with the bulls in Pamplona could be considered fun, he surmised. He never knew what emotions were going to come at him from where, and combined with being hyper-aware of _not_ letting on in any way to their colleagues that by some miracle of celestial alignment he’d woken Jensen up with a hand job that morning _and_ was ridiculously happy about it, he was exhausted by day’s end. There hadn’t been a lot of downtime during the day with their overly-efficient director so he and Jensen never quite found themselves alone together. Neither of them seemed to feel that as a loss, both implicitly understanding whatever evolution was happening in their friendship had to be placed on hold while issues were addressed.

It didn’t stop Misha from seeking out Jensen’s eyes throughout the day hoping for reassurance his friend wasn’t having a major freak-out about it all.  He knew Jensen would be thinking about; analyzing it and assimilating it in the way he does everything. He was, frankly, concerned Jensen would think his way right out of any possibility they could see where their affection for each other could take them. Well, it was more than affection and he’d known that for a while, at least on his side. But he’d also known it was something that should just ‘be’ – not explained or pursued – and cherished for the wondrous and unexpected thing it was.  He’d certainly never _really_ consciously entertained the idea they could or should have something more than just their energizing and often intense friendship. With having a playful, generous, marvel of a wife his marriage had taken a few sexual and romantic adventure-tours, but a _relationship_ with a man is not something he’d ever considered. And he was pretty damn sure Jensen would never have expected being at the precipice of something with himself, or any man. He was increasingly doubtful his friend was contemplating it as of now, a fear that made his chest tighten.

He was generally philosophical when it came to life (although no one could accuse him of being passive either) so he just reminded himself it was que sera sera; Jensen would have to work it out for himself and Misha would just have to deal with the outcome. But with that first ‘accidental’ kiss, the dam he didn’t know he’d constructed was breached, and he _wanted_. What it was he wanted he wasn’t sure of, but if there was one thing he _was not_ good at, it was wanting something and being able to put it aside. He typically went after things, both spontaneously and determinedly, and patience had never been his forte. And he found, after Friday morning, he was fucking impatient to see again the expression on Jensen’s face as he came apart in his hands. In fact – rather dramatically he acknowledged – he honestly didn’t know if he could live a contented life without repeating the experience, it was that devastatingly beautiful.

So when Jensen left in the car to catch his flight, Misha had immediately felt agitated knowing the whole weekend was ahead of him, and that when Jensen returned it could be with very bad news. He tried to keep busy, which wasn’t difficult since he always seemed to have too much to do. But even so, he was frequently blindsided with images and sensations from their recent private moments: the taste of Jensen’s mouth on his tongue, eyelashes shyly hovering over freckles, skin tightening in a shiver under his fingertips, the smell of sleepiness and warm shared sheets. It had been a while since something had affected him as much as the pure erotic intimacy of tasting Jensen’s come from his singularly kissable lips, and the memory made him he positively _ache_ with a curious new need.

Physicality with Jensen was an everyday occurrence, being inherent to their jobs, and had become so in their friendship. Although not exclusive to them by any means, play-fighting, hugging, teasing and generally arsing around to amuse themselves was the norm. It was second nature by now, wherever and whenever, and a fact taken full advantage of by fans during the sometimes endless convention photo-ops. But, the response in his body to covering his friend’s from head to toe, and having skin against skin, muscles colliding and cocks nudging together - albeit through fabric - was like nothing he could have anticipated. In addition to being entirely surreal, and enchanting, it had felt so ‘right’.  As clichéd a word as that was, it was the only one that fit.  So _right_ in fact, he wondered why it had taken so long to find himself here.  So perfectly right, he needed it again. Right fucking NOW.

Jensen Ackles was like no-one he’d ever known before; a veritable kaleidoscope of traits that shifted and slanted depending on your viewing point. His carefully constructed exterior was held guard by those often preposterously green eyes that were always scanning and assessing, casting a gaze that hid much more than it revealed. Misha felt both enlivened and exposed by those eyes - they could bore right through his flippant façade and into his soul. But they were also capable of bestowing such warmth and generosity that he spent a lot of time urging silently that they look at his way.

Misha had always been drawn to the energy of individuals, and people genuinely fascinated him.  None more so than those who had stark contrasts, which his friend had in abundance.  In short, Jensen was a puzzle he wanted to take completely apart and put back together again.

There was, for example, the good southern conservative mannered boy, the solid affectionate husband and man’s man, the calm responsible captain, and then the trickster, daredevil and energetic goof. Jensen spent a lot of time in his head, quietly observing and appraising, self-aware and outwardly controlled - it was part of what made him so good at his job. But he also had a propensity to take it too far; over-thinking, compartmentalizing and retreating.  Misha suspected he’d spent his whole life playing a variety of roles - hell the little shit posed his was through most days without even trying. But particularly early on, and despite Jensen’s affable and entirely genuine steady warmth, Misha often asked silently ‘would the real Jensen please stand up?’ It seemed to him that for every side you saw of Jensen, there were many other players waiting in the wings for their cue.

So when moments came that most people didn’t get to see and other parts of Jensen seeped through; the open-faced boy, the almost Machiavellian rogue, the sometimes painfully vulnerable young man, the insightful and unambiguously joyful friend, or even the obstinate and dismissive grump, Misha found he was delighted and intrigued in the extreme. When he felt mischievous, he liked to deliberately provoke him just to see if he could catch him off guard, and which Jensen he would get. But it was also part of the reason he put up with so many of the antics and ribbings Jensen initiated at his expense - he loved seeing Jensen at his most playful and authentic.

Well, he could admit now, he just loved seeing Jensen, the confession hauling him out of musing right back to his current state of vexation.

He’d done everything he could think of to pass the weekend productively without going insane. He’d tried meditating, which was always going to be an abject failure being as wired as he was. He’d gone for a run, a _really_ long run, which had helped at least temporarily. He’d had a long video chat to Vicki, for which he was more nervous that he initially expected - his wife had been, naturally, astute and gracious and fantastic and fuck he loved her so damn much he could cry from the ludicrous intensity of it all.

Respite finally came late Sunday afternoon, in the form of a text from his friend.

**Hey. About 2 get on flight. U around tonight? We need 2 talk. J.**

Relief lasted all of about ten seconds and was replaced with an anxious sinking feeling.

**Hi. Yes I will be home. Do you want to stop by?**

‘Please Jensen,’ he thought, ‘help me out here… give me a fucking sign.’

**K. 9?**

The recurring determination to not participate in the unwavering assault on the English language via text message gave him a passing distraction.

**I’ll look forward to seeing you. I hope you’re ok. 9pm is fine. See you then. M.**

Nothing followed, and he was left with all his doubts flocking to land uneasily in his stomach.

Somehow he’d managed to make it through to the evening, but when a knock on the door finally came his heart all but suffocated him by leaping into his mouth. He scolded himself - it was fucking absurd that he felt like this.  Obviously he’d underestimated his own hope for something between them to flourish, and he didn’t know what to do with the fear of it not being allowed to do so.

He opened the door to be slightly gratified by the sight of an equally nervous looking Jensen, although he was past the point trying to figure out if that was a good or bad omen.

“Hey,” Jensen said with a wan smile.

“Hey. Come in,” he returned, in as casual a tone as he could manage. He stepped back and felt awkward as Jensen tentatively moved inside the room and closed the door behind him.

Misha irrationally felt compelled to procrastinate. He turned tail and headed toward the kitchen, throwing the offer of a drink over his shoulder while his friend pulled off his jacket, but Jensen’s pleading voice stopped him as he reached the corner.

“Mish, wait…”

He turned around. Jensen had a naked look in his eye Misha had never seen other than when he was in front of the camera.

“What…?” he forced out, his breath painfully caught in his chest.

Jensen steadily took the steps forward necessary to wrap him an enveloping hug. His friend was taller and broader than him, but somehow he managed to sink himself into Misha like he was clinging to a life-raft.

He was happy to return it after his momentary surprise gave way, and the tension eased out of him against Jensen’s yielding frame. They stayed like that for a long moment, chins burrowing into each other's necks before finally pulling away from each other with a slide of stubbled skin against cheek.

“Sorry,” Jensen said quietly, inching a couple of steps back. “I’ve needed to do that ever since I got in that fuckin’ airplane today.”

“Umm... it’s okay. I’m glad you did.”

Misha swallowed through his tightened throat. He felt a hundred times better, but he needed to know where they stood. Or more to the point, if he needed to attempt to force shut the emotional Pandora’s box unexpectedly prised open during the past couple of weeks. “So, how’d it go?”

“Ahh, good. Yeah. I managed to talk to Danni.”

“Uh-huh,” was all Misha could manage.

“She was great, actually. I mean, it wasn’t the easiest conversation I’ve ever had in my life, but it went well, considering…”

“Considering?” Misha asked after a pause.

“Yeah, considering I was basically asking her permission to try out an intimate relationship with one of my best friends. Best _guy_ friends,” Jensen huffed, accompanied a shake of his head that led Misha to think Jensen had some ways to go before he had his head around the idea. Well, it was hardly already a mundane concept to him either just yet.

“So...” he prompted.

“So, long _long_ story short, she told me it was about time I figured out I was… I… was in love with you.” Jensen looked him squarely in the eyes for a moment before focusing on the floor and folding his arms. “And, if our marriage remained my first priority, and I was honest and forthcoming with her, and we were on the _very_ down-low, and the time was right, that… that I shouldn’t waste it, or miss out on… umm, you,” he finished, apprehensive eyes flicking up again.

Misha’s ears were buzzing from the blood coursing round his veins. “You... you’re... in love with me?”

‘Her words, not mine.”

“Oh.”

“But Mish, here’s the thing… I am.” Jensen fixed his eyes back to Misha, shoving his hands in his back pockets as he shrugged.

Misha swallowed and let out a breath that threatened to turn into a laugh of disbelief.

“A soon as she said it, I knew… everything just made sense, and it’s like all the emotional burrs I’ve had scratching at me were just filed away. I’ve been thinking about it, about nothing else to be honest, and I _know_ … she was right,” Jensen asserted, before tumbling on. “And I think that’s part of why I’ve been so mixed up lately… I mean there is a lot of shit from work but that’s temporary and I can deal with that better, but I think there has been… frustration? _Something_ … nagging at me for a while. Especially, I only just figured out, when you’re not around.”

Jensen was looking at him shyly. He was dumbfounded. He was expecting the worst, and this…? He didn’t know what it meant, but it left him speechless, and by his own admission that was quite some feat. It occurred to him he probably resembled a stunned goldfish right now.

 “What about Vic, did you talk to her?” Jensen asked.

“Ah, yeah I did.”

“And?”

“And she was, umm, happy about it.”

“Happy?” his friend questioned, looking dubious.

“Yeah, she was happy. I mean, you know us, we have this thing where we actually enjoy seeing each other happy--” He trailed off with a shrug. He was not articulating this very well but he was hardly up to giving a lecture on polyamorous ideology. “And… ah, I guess she knows how much I’ve probably wanted this, for a long time,” he finished with quiet assurance.

“You have?”

“Yes. You haven’t been the only one deliberating and having self-realizations about this. I’ve been going out of my mind Jen.”

Jensen huffed out another smile, one that lingered this time. “So that’s all she said? You’re, umm, good to go?”

Misha couldn’t help matching the smile and raising it for a grin. “Yeah, I guess you could say that. Oh, she said to go easy on you…” he added, holding his friend’s look and pitching in a wink.

Jensen laughed.

Misha adored Jensen laughing, _particularly_ when he was the one to make him do so. He felt a giggle coming on himself, but bit his lower lip to stymie it in case he couldn’t stop laughing once he started.

“Shit, this is going to make work interesting,” Jensen pronounced after a few moments. “What about Jare? He’s going to work it out for sure. What would we say? I don’t want to have to keep secrets from him. I don’t think I could anyway.”

“I don’t think we’ll have to worry about Jared. In fact I don’t think he’ll exactly be flabbergasted.”

“What? You think”? Jensen asked doubtfully.

“Yeah, he’s pretty perceptive our Jared. He already gives us… _space_. Haven’t you noticed?”

“Hmm,” his friend pondered for a few moments. “Well shit, fancy that,” Jensen added like he’d just had a minor epiphany. “Am I the _last_ one to catch on?”

They’d taken a few imperceptible shuffling steps toward each other during their conversation. It was a very ‘them’ thing to do Misha registered. They just kind of… _gravitated_ toward each other.  ‘Personal space issues my ass,’ he thought, breaking out in a smile again.  Although, did this mean he would have to stop all the public innuendo about them? Or would that be too obvious?  This was hilariously fucked up, and he loved it.

“So, what now?” asked the beautiful man standing in front of him, offering himself.

Misha knew he was beaming from ear to ear. His brain helpfully supplied a few immediate suggestions.

He reached out, hooked a finger into a belt-loop of his friend’s jeans and yanked mildly to pull himself the half-step it took to bring them face to face.  Jensen sucked in his plump bottom lip between his teeth.  Goddamnit if that didn’t make him want to bite it as well - what might have caught his attention before suddenly seemed fucking _obscene_.  Christ, he was in trouble. “Yes, what now?” he drawled, lifting his eyebrows.

Jensen arched one back in curiosity.  Or was it a challenge?

Misha liked a challenge.  “You know, I seem to remember giving you a prescription for dopamine…”

 

 

*** FIN ***


End file.
